


Anything But Love

by fragile-teacup (Mrs_Gene_Hunt)



Series: The Spaces Between [6]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, M/M, Season/Series 03, Will Loves Hannibal, Will realises that Hannibal loves him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 22:40:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10545552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_Gene_Hunt/pseuds/fragile-teacup
Summary: A 444 word short fic that takes place at the start of The Number of the Beast is 666 (Season 3, Episode 12). Written to celebrate the 4th Hanniversary on 4th April 2017.I'mfragile-teacupon Tumblr. Drop by for a visit any time!





	

**'Is Hannibal... in love with me?'**

Realisation dawns, cracking the certainty Will has worn like armour for years. _Hannibal wants to manipulate me, make me his creature._ But love? An absurd concept, one that Will has chased away whenever it's attempted to creep into his consciousness. _Call it anything: obsession, fascination, fixation. Anything but love._

**'Could he daily feel a stab of hunger for you...'**

Mind and pulse racing in tandem, Will thinks back over all they’ve shared. Like protein scramble. Chicken soup. Lomo saltado. Ortolans. Long looks and lingering smiles. Seven-thirty conversations over wine or whiskey. Impromptu kitchen visits with coffee or dessert for two. And other things. Like intellectual superiority. Fatherhood. Inner darkness. _Call it anything: manipulation, baiting, the thrill of the hunt. Anything but love._

**'…and feel nourishment at the very sight of you?'**

Suddenly it hurts to breathe, to move. Over the years, so many separations. So many times they've stared at each other through barriers real and imagined. Between bars. Behind glass. Across the vast metaphysical expanse of a shared memory palace. Rent asunder by betrayals, moral certitude, bands of gold, yet always, _always_ drawn back together. _Call it anything: conditioning, co-dependence, enabling. Anything but love._

**'Yes.'**

A sound pushes up through Will's larynx. Laugh, scream or whimper? He forces it down. Casts around desperately, grasps at a fragment of an old song and clutches it for balance.

_Love is the light scaring darkness away._

So Hannibal rescued him from Cordell's scalpel and surrendered to Jack. So there's a light in Hannibal's eyes and softness in his voice reserved exclusively for Will. So he's the only person in the world who looks into Will, sees his shadowed soul and thinks it beautiful. _Call it anything: selfishness, egoism, narcissism. Anything but love._

Yet Will knows there's another side, another story. Hospital vigils and tender touches. Tearful apologies for shattered teacups. Equations and machinations to fix what cannot be mended. Exquisite gentleness alongside the violence. Confessions so romantic, they're branded on Will's heart. 

**'But do you ache for him?'**

Impossible to reply. To allow the word to spill, in shuddering release long withheld, would mean surrendering the blissful pretence of ignorance. So Will sits, frozen, with stinging eyes and rising, suffocating, horrifying longing. For a man who trails bodies like confetti. A man with a many-headed monster on his back: Il Mostro, Chesapeake Ripper, Copycat Killer. A man who has redefined what it means to love and be loved.

_Love is danger, love is pleasure._

The die is cast. Fates, like lovers, intertwine as tentatively Will reaches out and grasps the fragile truth.

_**I can deny it's anything. Anything but love.**_


End file.
